The First Christmas, in Paris GSR
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Gil Grissom is in Paris; Sara Sidle Grissom is in Vegas. After years in Vegas, Paris is a greater attraction. Perhaps something like this will happen for our favorite couple! Romance, a little adventure, even insects. Little bit of sweet smut, so rated M
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: As usual, we own nothing. This is our little story of Sara and Gil in Paris for their first Christmas as a married couple. Enjoy!_

**The First Christmas Chapter 1**

_The Plane_

There was a plan—but as most plans go, theirs was disrupted by the unexpected. Now, she was returning to Paris, flying east to Atlanta and a change of planes for a direct flight to Paris. She had done this often enough to know what she needed and desired; music, water, eye mask, a travel toothbrush, and her own light weight blanket meant she could cocoon into her own space regardless of who sat beside her. This time she had an exit row window seat, lots of leg room. She lowered the shade; she thought the airline had coded her name for exit row seating since she had gotten the same seat on two flights—traveling light and alone. She stretched her legs and pulled her blanket to her neck.

The plan had been to celebrate Christmas in some warm sunny spot, maybe Mexico or a Caribbean island, just pick a place where the sun was shining and go. However, those plans had been squashed on Thanksgiving Day, and it really didn't matter where they spent Christmas, just as long as they were together.

Vegas was never a real Christmas kind of place—too many lights burned all year for holiday lights to make an impact, too many tourists every day of the year to notice more or less on any one day. Of course, for too many years—except for the last two years—Christmas had been spent at work or on-call. This year, Grissom was supposed to be finished in Paris, however, his seminar had proven to be popular and even an institution as esteemed as the Sorbonne, the University of Paris VI to be specific, saw financial rewards in providing the opportunity for additional students to pay for the privilege of attending said seminar. And they were quite happy to pay Dr. Gilbert Grissom a handsome stipend in addition to the normal remuneration for his services if he would repeat the course.

She quietly chuckled, as she thought about his seminar; who would think the swarming processes of some tropical insect would grab the world's attention—the bug people of the world anyway—and the Smithsonian Tropical Research center would ask Gil Grissom, Ph.D., forensic entomologist, lately of Costa Rica, and retired supervisor of the Las Vegas crime lab, to present recent research. She giggled again, not quite so quietly, causing her row companion to notice her. And she was the one who went to Costa Rica first! She turned her head toward the window.

When the head of the Charles Janet Entomology Department asked for Grissom to extend his stay how could he say no and how could she refuse to agree when the excitement in his voice told her how pleased he was at this unexpected turn of events. He loved teaching and Sara knew teaching was his secret dream. He also had access to the Sorbonne libraries which safeguarded the original works of Charles Janet and she knew he was there every day. He had also brought up insects in amber and sifting sand or blue earth or something along those lines. She had read 'Jurassic Park' and seen the movie. That's what she knew about amber.

They talked about possibilities for a holiday, never saying the complexities of meeting would mean they could not. This was their first—in a long line of "firsts"—and neither would think that perhaps he staying in Paris and she remaining in Vegas was an option. Christmas break at the Sorbonne was a few weeks away and he was already packing when Sara called. "Stay in Paris", she said. "I'm coming."

And she was. At first hesitant to ask Ecklie if she could take off, she realized she was working at his request, not his demand. Surprising her, he was almost gracious when she explained Grissom had agreed to teach another seminar before returning to Vegas and she wanted time off. Of course, she had been working double shifts, giving the rest of the team time off as she did paperwork for old cases, went home to sleep, and was back before the others ever woke.

The second leg of her flight, from Atlanta to Paris, was her time to sleep and, after she ate, she wrapped her blanket around her, set her music to soothing sleep sounds, and was asleep before cabin lights were dimmed. She had learned to avoid jet lag by sleeping on the plane, arriving in Paris in early morning, and staying active once she landed.

_Paris_

Grissom had cleaned, shopped for groceries, filled a thermos with hot tea and checked for arrival time. Of course, the postage stamp size apartment took ten minutes to clean. It took longer to make tea. They had found this tiny "double studio" near the Sorbonne lecture hall from a list provided by the university and selected it because of the view from the equally small balcony. Standing in the right corner, one could see the Eiffel Tower, and moving four feet, one could see Sacre Coeur.

He switched on lights because, in Paris, in the winter, day light came around mid-morning and he wanted the balcony to be noticed. By the time Sara walked out of customs, he would be waiting. He had bundled up—grey clouds hung low over the skyline with a chill that seeped into bones—in a long coat, his official French beret pulled over his head. He joined hundreds heading to the airport, one of the few without luggage, and somewhere he realized, after hearing a cell phone ring; he had left his phone on the table in the small apartment.

It was a fast train, much quicker than using the streets, and glided into the Charles de Gaulle in thirty-five minutes. He made one stop to refill the thermos and weaved through arriving passengers to the luggage carousel. He stopped quickly when he realized the carousel was almost empty and the few remaining people were families and groups. No single female was there. He looked around—how could he have missed her, he thought. He knew she would head for the train, so he backtracked, checking lines at coffee bars and restrooms as best he could, before arriving back at the train—which was just pulling away.

As the train gained speed, leaving a growing crowd on the platform, Grissom caught a glimpse of a dark haired familiar face on the departing train—her head bent against a phone. He swore and clinched his fist—he had missed her by seconds! He swore again as he placed fingers against his forehead. She would be eight minutes ahead of him and he had no phone. He paced—for eight minutes, regretting he had come one minute, the next knowing it was fate that her plane had arrived minutes early or short lines or no checked luggage had put her a few minutes ahead of him.

Grissom knew Sara would take the Metro to the stop nearest the apartment and have a three block walk. He might catch her as she changed trains, but he might get ahead of her by taking a cab to the apartment. It was Christmas; he did not want her to be alone, he wanted to be there when she opened the door. He managed to step ahead of the crowd to the line of taxis and, in haste, gave the address in English, and passing money to the driver as he added "Quickly, please" in French.

As the yellow cab arrived at the corner of the narrow cul-de-sac, Grissom saw Sara walking just ahead with a small backpack and shoulder bag.

Ordering the cab to stop, he paid double for the short ride and hurried to catch her. "Sara," he called.

When she turned, he knew what he had missed for four weeks. He knew why he tumbled into bed and lay awake for an hour before sleeping. He knew why the phone bill was so high and what his eyes missed every hour they were apart.

Sara smiled, head slightly to one side, a broad, face changing grin that showed her surprise and her pleasure.

"Gil!" Her arms opened.

He pointed upward to their apartment. Her broad grin got wider. "You didn't."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Read, enjoy--review! Thanks! _

**Chapter 2**

_The apartment, 5__th__ arrondissement _

They didn't wait for the slow moving elevator but took the steps to the fourth floor apartment. Every landing and every floor, they kissed and laughed or drank tea as he explained why he was in a taxi and why she couldn't reach him on his phone, how he had seen her on the train and brought her tea to welcome her to Paris.

He opened the door to a wave of warm air.

"I have food," he said.

Sara started to remove her coat, but changed her mind as she headed to the balcony. "I can't believe you decorated!"

She opened the door and stepped outside. The balcony was only three feet wide along the front of the building. Grissom had wrapped the railing with colored lights that twinkled as precious gems in gravel in the grayness of early morning. A large red bow had been tied to the center post in the railing. As long as Sara had known him, she never remembered any holiday decorations.

"Is this a first?" She asked as Grissom joined her.

He kissed her before answering, wrapping coatless arms around her. "I've missed you," he whispered. "This is our first Christmas—as husband and wife—I thought we deserved something special." He pulled her back inside just as the tea pot whistled.

"We need to warm up," Sara said as her hands went around him. They remained together arms wrapped around the other in the small kitchen. When they found the apartment, Sara had gotten the giggles as the manager showed off the kitchen with its furnished appliances. There was one sink, two burners, a toaster oven, a microwave, and an under-counter refrigerator along a six foot wall.

The studio living area provided a table for two, a sofa, two small chairs, two end tables and a half wall dividing the sleeping area from the living area. It was possible for two people who had lived in a tent for weeks to decide there was enough room for both in less square footage than their bedroom in Vegas. The surprise was the bathroom—and the reason Sara chose this one. It was the largest bathroom they had seen in any of the apartments, with a big tub and a separate shower, and a small clothes washer. She would have slept on the sofa for the bathroom.

With cups of tea held in one hand, the two moved together. Grissom turned faucets to fill the tub he never used when alone. For years Sara had relied on quick showers for bathing until one day, in Grissom's townhouse, she had cleaned and filled his tub, sprinkled in citrus smelling bath beads and slipped her entire body into the hot water. She lay there for an hour, adding hot water as needed. From that one experience, she acquired an appreciation of the protracted hot bath.

It took frequent coaxing to get Grissom into the tub with her but once he tried it and the enhanced dimension that soaking together added to another aspect of their relationship made him a fan. Before his cup was empty, he was unbuttoning her shirt at the same time he was toeing off his shoes.

Sara giggled. He placed her cup beside his before putting both hands on either side of her head, cradling her face intimately. "I've missed you greatly, sweet Sara." Their foreheads touched and in minutes they were in the tub pouring liquids into palms and soaping each other from toes to chin, remembering warm, secret places of lovers.

The rest of the morning, they spent making love on the double bed with gauzy curtains blocking the cold gun-metal gray of clouds until the sun dissolved the foggy haze. If they had remained in bed, they would have missed the dancing bands of light and shadow across the façade of one of Paris' famed cathedrals. The sun was back on its job emerging as a blinding yellow diamond and Parisians responded with a collective jubilation.

Before they entered the sunny world of Paris on a winter day, Sara and Grissom celebrated in other ways. He had shown Sara how unique and irreplaceable she was in his life months before when he arrived in Costa Rica. She repaid with a new self-confidence, a buoyancy of trust that he found endearing and appealing. This newfound poise made it easier for them to be apart; doubt and uncertainty were no longer a part of her life.

Sara never forgot how it was to be loved by Grissom. With extreme care, yet in a spontaneous act of nature, his hands touched her along her shoulder, tracing down her abdomen, smoothly cupping her breasts, nuzzling one as he gently circled the other with his fingertip. His hand moved to her belly, her thigh, and her legs. This morning, he caught his breath several times—as her long legs wrapped around him, when her nails pressed into his back, as his hand moved to intimate places on her body.

"You feel wonderful, honey," he said, his fingers playing along the invisible line from hip to pubic crest as he moved lower to find her warm, damp cleft.

After an absence, the first union was all about sex, strokes, kisses; tender and confident, carefully modulating rhythm for passion and climax within seconds of the other. They relaxed afterwards and played, kissing each other, unable to keep hands and fingers from constant contact with the warm body folded around and over their own. And Grissom worked her as if she were an exquisite treasure, kissing, brushing, touching, cataloging, memorizing what he had already committed to memory with fingers that warmed and heated.

They moved as one, from resting to desire in seconds as his fingers worked between her legs, his lips against hers until he lifted her up, centered her across his hips, then lowered her slowly onto him. When he fit snugly inside her, she gave a moan or cry, coming almost immediately. The entire movement had taken less time than a minute hand once around the face of a clock, taking longer for Sara to be able to speak than it had taken for her to climax.

When she could speak, it was a giggle whispered into his ear. "I could be a frog on your lily pad—a very happy frog!"

He laughed as he rolled to his side and she felt the heat and firmness of his groin against her thigh.

"Amazing," she grinned, hovering over him for a few seconds before closing her smile around him. She teased, she kissed, she coaxed, only releasing when he groaned and pulled her face to his. In a quick shift of bodies, she was on her back and he was above her again.

Both needed a nap before venturing out—Grissom managed to slip from bed, shower, and dress before waking Sara with tea and fresh bread and local cheese and table grapes. Lazily, she stayed in bed for this "feast" she called it. Curling against his chest, she ate and talked about Vegas, Catherine and Nick, Greg and Brass, the others who continued to miss him even though she knew he did not miss their work.

"You are blooming again, Sara. The old confidence has returned—no, it's a new confidence." His eyebrow lifted. "What has brought this on?"

"You," she said simply. She popped the last of the cheese into her mouth before she got out of bed and into the shower. She had no need to explain how her new-self had risen from the ghostly ashes of unacknowledged sorrow and grief, tragedy and heartbreak.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Enjoy! Thanks for reading! And your comments!_

**Chapter 3**

_The City of Lights_

They walked narrow streets and wide boulevards to one of the largest and oldest parks in the city. Winter changed the park from lush greenery and symmetrical shrubbery to one of bare trees and statuary unadorned by flowers. The clear sky changed to one of twilight as lights came on in a stunning show of fantasy scenes and fairy tales in store windows. Streets lined with trees came alive with strings of white lights and at certain viewpoints they could see the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. In another direction, the huge spotlights were shining on the hilltop cathedral giving it the appearance of an elaborate white cake.

Grissom talked of his research and teaching; the delight in his voice providing evidence of his enjoyment of this second career. Except for his graying hair, Sara knew his appearance had changed since leaving Las Vegas. He was slightly leaner; he smiled quickly and seldom frowned. His shoulders had lifted and a light, confidence had returned to his steps.

"I'm reading the original works of Charles Janet," he chuckled. "Well, I'm looking at his drawings and trying to read French!"

They found an Indian café and ate steamed dumplings, stuffed tomatoes, and sticky rice with vegetables and drank copious amounts of hot tea and talked, jumping from insects to crime to world politics and to dogs that passed. The dogs of Paris were as jubilant as their owners in the afternoon sun, frisky and friendly with anyone who gave them a minute of attention.

"I miss Hank, too" Grissom said as he patted a boxer.

"Hank is fine. He's great company for me and he's enjoying his visits with Doc Robbins when I leave—he does miss you, though. He's still looking for all that junk food you kept around." Rather than have their dog confined in a small apartment and endure long flights and isolation in cargo, they had decided Hank was happy to remain in Las Vegas and happiest when he romped familiar territory.

Hugged together, they walked by windows of a large department store filled with teddy bears posed in scenes from Christmas stories. Children clad in bright coats and mittens pressed noses to cold glass and chatted in excited voices about what they were seeing.

"You need a dress—party for the temporary workers," Grissom said as he pointed to an upper display window with fancy evening dresses. "And not black," he added.

Sara made a face. He had worked all summer getting her out of black and into more colorful clothes. In Galleries Lafayette she found a dress—not black but a dark blue shimmering silky fabric—they both liked. He approved the color; she decided to surprise him with how it looked as she turned in front of the dressing room mirror. She did not look at the price because several years ago, Grissom had made one rule—when he was buying, she was not to question cost.

She remembered his words. "For most of my life, I've saved fifteen to forty percent of every paycheck I've gotten. Compounded interest, a few investments means you do not worry about what something costs." He had given her the raised eyebrow and the subject was closed.

For his honesty, she never went to high-end designer departments when he was paying for her clothes. Thrifty to the point of being penny-pinching, he thought, but instead he praised her for being a wise and careful shopper.

Paris had chosen, by some secret signal, to be a movie of itself as darkness came. An old man and a teenage boy played concertinas, small accordions, on a street corner and a few people were dancing in the street. Several tough looking young men in black jackets and white ties watched the dancers; Grissom placed a protective arm around Sara as he watched the men for several minutes as they strutted and postured. Sara nudged him as a group of girls floated by, obviously dressed for the night in party clothes disregarding the need for warmth.

One girl shouted something indecipherable; the young men in white ties met them in the center of the street. And, magic happened. The tough looks were replaced by smiling faces and laughter as partners were found and the music's tempo increased. Within minutes, the street filled with a choreographed recital of flashing dancers and watchers appeared from side streets, apartment buildings, shops, and late night businesses. Sara and Grissom stayed until the group bowed, breathless and laughing, and someone arrived with beers from the corner bar.

_The Bed _

Back in the apartment, he hung coats and the dress in their one shared closet. Before he could make tea, Sara was in pajamas, sitting on the bed pulling on thick socks.

He laughed. "Get those socks off," he said as he sat beside her. "And those bottoms off." He handed her a cup of tea.

"I'm cold," she complained, light-hearted in tone, knowing her toes felt like plugs of ice.

"I'll warm you up." And he did after he removed the socks and her flannel pants and slid underneath the blanket and comforter. "Your hands are cold—tea is supposed to warm hands!" He held her hands in his as they kissed and when they parted he drew his thumb across her lips. She touched the tip of his thumb with her tongue.

He kissed her again, long and lingering, savoring the taste, as her hands circled his neck. His tongue slid along her lower lip and senses of both went from babbling brook to a raging waterfall ready to engulf and carry both over its edge. His mouth moved to her throat as heat swept through him.

Sara's fingers tightened around his shoulders as a hand slipped down her back to the place where the curve of her hips began. Very deliberately he pressed her into the intimate space created between his legs which allowed him to feel the softness of her body against his erection. His hand pushed her shirt to her neck and somehow, she wriggled it over her head and pulled his shirt up, her fingertips tracing along his back as she did so. He shuddered and made a sound that was half moan, half muffled laugh.

Grissom's arm tightened around her as his fingers threaded their way to the intimate triangle between her thighs. With a delicate pressure of his knee he separated her legs and rolled on top. As her hands were busy—delicate pressure against his skin, fingers lacing through his hair, he probed, gently, softly, easing his way against the damp, throbbing entrance to her feminine core.

Her back arched against his body, aching with desire, bending her knees to wrap her legs around him. He caught her head between his palms and kissed her as he began to move, slowly at first as she met his pace. He rocked against her, driving both to the verge of conscious control. He felt her hands on his skin, no longer cool, but intense with heat.

He looked at her face and saw an expression of wonder and passion. He knew she had jumped, free flight, into that whirlpool of passion; he sensed her impending climax as her entire body tensed. Her hands twisted in his hair. She was lost, he thought, no longer conscious of what was happening around her. He pushed into her, tasting her with his tongue, driving himself deep inside her as he heard her choked cry as waves of pleasure rippled and exploded. Seconds later, he emitted his own groan as he spent himself, collapsing across his wife, an arm curved possessively around her.

They lay quietly for a time, taking in the sensations and feelings of the warmth and tenderness of being together after weeks of absence. Sara's breath warmed his chest as he stirred.

"Tomorrow, provided we get out of bed, we will check out the Christmas markets—along the Champs Elysees and another near the Luxembourg Gardens." He stopped talking long enough to kiss her, starting at her forehead, her nose, her lips, her chin, the hollow of her throat. "They are set up like villages, selling all kinds of Christmas things, food, wine, toys. We can shop—buy something for everyone we know!"

Her response sounded like an agreement, he decided as Sara snuggled against him, her eyes heavy with sedating pleasure. He kissed her again. "Sleep, sweet Sara." In minutes, she was asleep, not even waking as he pulled socks onto her feet or wrapped a fleece blanket around them. Neither moved for hours.

_A/N: Hit the review button! It's time for blackmail-- you send a review and we add another chapter today! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_The Shopping _

The long dawn, the warmth in the room, jet-lag, and comfort caused sleep to stay with Sara and Grissom until mid-morning. A cell phone ringing finally brought Grissom's hand to the stack of books. He fumbled, knocking books across the floor; Sara protested his movements with her own moan of objection.

She said, "Don't," just as Grissom said "Hello, Grissom." He had yet to accept the French method of dropping the "H".

He talked several minutes pulling Sara into his arms, slipping his hand beneath her breast and cupping it gently in his hand. She kissed his chest as he continued a one-sided conversation, mostly in English. Sara moved to his neck, tickling his throat with her tongue. He grinned, finally flipping the phone closed. He slipped down into the bed maneuvering under her body.

"Tell me again why we are living five thousand miles apart?" His asked, his voice husky with early morning wakefulness. He felt a ripple move her belly.

"It's the nuttiest thing I'll ever do." Her throaty giggle said more than words as she moved her mouth lower on his chest. She teased his belly with her tongue, using her fingertips to tap his ribs as a signal to roll.

Grissom made some noise that rumbled from deep within his chest as he followed her silent directions. He was barely awake, he thought, and she had already aroused him. He slipped hands around her arms, tugged and got "Not yet" as a response. Another minute passed as he felt her wet lips and warm breath against his skin.

He growled, "Enough, woman!" He was to the point of explosion before she moved against him, a grin on her face.

Face to face, they made love, slowly, with deliberate and unhurried kisses in those intimate places of lovers. Sara's deep, sexy laugh fueled his desire as they prolonged their feelings, their need to be together, in this bed, time and place. Even after a long, peaceful night of sleep, the two lovers slipped into a restful nap.

When they woke, within minutes of each other, her soft brown eyes met his intense blue ones. "It's time to shop, dear," he whispered.

Living in Paris, they had learned a new and different method of shopping. No large shopping centers anchored by a mega-store sat in the middle of gigantic paved lots. The freshest bread was purchased at boulangeries and vegetables and fruits from local farmers; cheeses from fromageries—all found within a few blocks of the apartment. The neighborhood supermarket was no larger than a twenty-four hour convenience store in Vegas, yet stocked a variety of foods for preparing the simplest meal or a gourmet dinner. Grissom, who had never liked to shop, had learned to enjoy the process. He spoke stumbling French in the beginning but could now speak well enough, and was well known by the shopkeepers, that he used shopping as his personal tutor.

At some point, he explained the telephone call—an invitation to accompany a professor and his family to a special archeology dig north of Paris for the next day. "It will be fun," he explained. "We'll get back in plenty of time for the party."

Before noon, they were outside and the sun was shining again. They walked with the crowds to one of the temporary holiday villages that sprouted in numerous areas of the city. Most resembled Swiss chalets or gingerbread houses or thatched roof cottages or open booths and sold every possible trinket, food, beverage, toy, and gadget imaginable. Grissom tried to enter every shop, buying a bottle of wine, a bag of candy, little cakes and muffins, nuts, a dog toy, miniature Santas, carved birds, an angel, a beehive the size of a thimble—small souvenirs "for others" he said . When he stared longingly at a meat pie, Sara nodded, realizing some time ago he would never be a vegetarian.

With bags already heavy, they made their way along one of the famous shopping avenues of designer names with stores filled with dresses, coats, bags, shoes, and jewelry. Only one window caused Sara to stop as she admired the unusual jewelry—crystals and colorful stones appeared to be woven in a mosaic effect of tiny flowers and butterflies, birds and leaves. She had stopped for less than a minute when Grissom pointed to another shop.

"It's a honey store. _Les Abeilles_ means the bees."

Inside they found only honey—lavender honey, opera honey, Paris honey, dozens of labels. The sales lady explained the different names indicating where the honey was produced; the Paris honey came from hives kept in the city. The 'Opera honey' from hives near the Paris Opera House. And Grissom purchased four jars.

They ate as they shopped, finding jam filled pastries, chocolate crepes, glazed fruits, spinach quiche and, of course, Grissom's meat pie. "We smell like a kitchen," Sara told him as he crossed the street to another food cart. "I don't think I can eat another bite."

"Yes you can—we need lots of calories, and this guy has the best!"

The vender knew him, giving a greeting of "Mr. Grissom" in accented English. "And the pretty lady comes today—Sara, yes?" He was curling batter into hot oil twisting it into the shape of a pretzel, flipping it once before lifting it out, and rolling the fried dough in a dry mixture. Sara smelled cinnamon. Paper was folded around the fried cake with the care of wrapping a present and presented with a flourish. "The best!"

Carefully, she tasted. The two men watched. The sweetness was first followed by the sharp sensation of cinnamon with another flavor—citrus, she thought. She made an agreeable sound and chewed. If one could taste a cloud, this would be it—puffy and sweet with a hint of salt inside. Unlike a donut, this treat tasted of a light sea breeze.

"Delicious," she said, adding "_delicieux_!"

When Sara thought they could carry no more, Grissom insisted on one more stop—a florist—where he was again greeted by name.

"M. Grissom!" The woman's voice sang across the flower stalls. "She is here, yes!" A younger woman came from the back. "Marie, get the last one—we have saved it!" A small evergreen was placed on the counter. Grissom grinned.

Sara was speechless—they had never had a Christmas tree. She could not remember the last time she woke on Christmas morning to see a decorated tree. She did not see the point of cutting trees just to watch them die.

Grissom was reading a card to her as the two women carefully covered the tree, as with everything else they had purchased, it was wrapped as carefully as a gift. Suddenly, she understood the French. The tree was a living tree, to be returned after Christmas day and planted in a park.

The older woman spoke in English. "This one is special. It will go to Versailles—you have seen it? The forests are being replanted after a storm destroyed thousands of trees. Return the tree to us and it continues to live—_oui_?"

Sara nodded, tears in her eyes. She realized Grissom had planned this. All of those little trinkets he had purchased "for others" were going on their three foot tall tree. She stood there like an idiot, arms filled with shopping bags, tears running down her face.

"Happy tears?" the woman asked.

"_Mais oui_."

The tree fit on one of the end tables. No lights, per instructions, but Grissom's trinkets covered its branches. Sara had as much fun unwrapping each item as she had hanging them. She placed a little lace angel at the top of the tree and stepped back.

Grissom had watched. For a person who professed a disinterest in holiday decorating, Sara was having fun. Every ornament he had purchased had been placed and replaced at least twice on the tree.

"It's perfect," he said as she turned.

She smiled. "Thank you—I can't remember the last time I decorated a Christmas tree."

He waved his hand for her to join him. "Next year, we'll do it again—bigger tree, more stuff."

She studied the tree. "Maybe we should put it over there." She pointed to the half wall between the sofa and the bed. "We could see it from the bed."

He chuckled.

_A/N: Two chapters in one day! Thanks for your comments! Enjoy!!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: A longer chapter--to keep you until tomorrow! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 5**

_In bed, again!_

Grissom did move the tree. He placed it on the half wall just as Sara suggested. While she bathed, he prepared a tray of fruits, cheese, sweets, and wine. He loved feeding her and she loved to eat in bed. This was one of several things they liked to do in bed, he thought with a grin.

When she appeared, wearing fleece pajamas and socks, he said, "You won't be wearing those for long."

She snickered. "I think you never get tired of it."

"I don't. Besides, we're newly wed. We're supposed to be doing 'it' all the time!" He lifted the tray while she crawled into the bed. He heard her giggle.

"Food. I love food in bed—almost as much as I love something else." Her fingers pushed his shirt up.

The food and wine ended up on the floor, for later, because once Sara's lips touched his chest, neither wanted food.

This night, neither had to say much as Grissom showed his wife, slowly, with deliberate and thoughtful purpose how much he loved her. His hands warmed areas of her body that needed warmth; his fingers moved in ways to heat her intimately. And his lips—once his lips met hers, she drew him into a passionate embrace and did not let him go. Even as he traced lips along her neck, her shoulder, nuzzled her shirt to her neck and pulled it over her head, she never released him.

Her gasp, always one of surprise, when he pushed into her caused a tremble throughout her body. He was gentle at all times, moving with her, bringing her to the edge of that sparkling whirlpool of excitement and passion before he freed himself for the same. For some time after, he continued to possess her, keeping her wrapped in his arms as they talked—about her work, about his work, about distance and separation.

At one point, she asked if she should stay, not return to Vegas.

Grissom chuckled. "No—no, I won't stay longer than this seminar. If we don't get the grant, I've got a few other options for us." He reached for the wine; Sara was already eating. "As much as I love you with all my heart—I'm scared of Catherine! If I kept you here, she would do things worse than death to me—don't laugh, you know it's true!"

She ate another sweet date filled with some kind of nut. "I have to go back for New Year's Eve." Her audible sigh was an unspoken message.

He snuggled under covers. "I know—Catherine keeps me informed. I'm flying back with you—for a few days." His hands found her breast, a finger circled lightly against her skin.

"Gil, your seminar begins the following Monday! How will you make that turn-around?"

His mouth was against her skin. "I'll work it out," he mumbled, clearly thinking of other things, not jet lag.

_Looking for amber_

"It will be fun!" Grissom had assured Sara when he woke her from a sound sleep, in a warm bed. "This is supposed to be an awesome place—an old river bed—a few million years ago—and for years gravel has been hauled out of it. Several years ago, huge amber deposits were found. Paleontologists went crazy—hundred of insects were discovered. Perfect little ants, a spider never seen before, preserved in amber!" He continued talking about new insects which were not new as they had lived a million years ago as Sara pulled on leggings and socks and jeans, multiple layers to keep warm.

Grissom pulled jackets out of the upper shelves of the closet. "You want my boots?" He asked as he stuck his head into the bathroom holding a pair of gray rain boots.

"I'll wear my old lace-ups—should be on the top of the closet." Sara pulled her hair back. Smiling and shaking her head as she did. Here in the fashion capitol of the world—at least one of them—and she was spending the day at a gravel pit in the oldest clothes she owned. She knew it was going to be dirty and cold but the sun was going to shine and they would not be in a cave and she would be with Grissom. She found him waiting, holding her coat and a bag of food.

"I'm not sure of the plans—just to meet Dr. Delmar and a few others at this train station." He pointed to a map. "We take a bus out to the pit." A broad grin was plastered across his face. "I've wanted to go since I heard about it, but I wanted you to go."

She packed food in her backpack along with another windbreaker and a blanket. She knew to go over-prepared and grabbed a bottle of water to add to her bag.

"What time is the party tonight?" She asked.

He shrugged. "Around eight. It's at Dr. Delmar's place."

She smiled. "Come along, Dr. Grant—let's see if we can find a Jurassic ant!"

An hour later, changing trains twice, Sara and Grissom stepped off the train and met Dr. Delmar—along with his two sons, a daughter, the daughter's friend, and two students. The kids, bi-lingual as a result of an American father and French mother, were young, the oldest boy was thirteen; the youngest was five or six. The two girls were giggling when introduced and continued to do so for the length of the bus ride. The youngest boy, Charley, initiated a conversation with Grissom about ants showing them a thumb size piece of amber.

"Hold it up! See the ant—it's not a good one. Just part of an ant. That's why I got to keep it. Maybe I'll find a better one today." The child looked at Sara. "I'll give you this one when I find a new one."

Either because of Grissom's interest in ants and spiders, or because Sara talked to the boy, Charley stayed with Sara as they got off the bus at a small store and found the path to the site. Not knowing what to expect, Sara was surprised to be walking through a meadow of tall brown grasses. Flocks of birds flew overhead in the clear sky and kids and adults removed coats before arriving at the dry river bed—which was a huge hole in the ground. A road angled downward to the bottom. Obviously a lot of gravel had been hauled out of the place. There were trucks and mechanical equipment at one end, all was quiet today. Other people, mostly groups, were spread around the bottom of the pit. Rocks were stacked, or piled, in numerous mounds—easily a hundred in this stadium sized crater.

Dr. Delmar explained, "Several times a year, this place opens up for people who have permits to come out and dig. It's really more of sifting and dusting to find what's left." He pointed to a few people working along the side of the trench. "With special permits, one can dig where the soil has not been disturbed. For us, we dig in the rock tailings—those heaps waiting to be crushed into smaller gravel."

His students and children had previously been to the place. They immediately spread out and Sara noticed the two girls showed little interest in digging in rocks. She hid a grin; definitely other plans on their agenda today.

Charley opened his backpack. "You can help me."

For the next hour, Sara helped by looking at rocks. Grissom and Dr. Delmar disappeared when another professor came by, but Sara and Charley picked up rock after rock, looking at each one in hopes of finding one drop of amber. The child's enthusiasm for rock hunting was contagious, or his positive attitude that the "next one" would be amber kept Sara busy as she listened to him talk. She imagined if she had known Gil Grissom as a boy, he would have been very much like Charley Delmar.

"Would you like some water?" Sara asked as she reached for her backpack.

"Sure."

As she turned, Charley stuck his hand into the rock pile, knocking several stones aside.

"Look!" He shouted. Holding out his palm, Sara saw a smooth, gold rock—amber—no larger than the end of her finger. A smile spread across her face.

"You did it! Charley, you found one!"

Charley closed his fingers around his find and started running in the direction of his father, shouting something in French.

Sara stood to watch the child seeing Grissom and Dr. Delmar a hundred feet away. Suddenly, Charley vanished. Sara was the first to run.

The gravel pit had been a commercial operation for decades, however, when amber had been discovered, the government had put regulations in place for removing the sought after fossilized tree resin. Geologist, archeologists, paleontologists, and anyone else with a professional interest in amber could receive permits to search. The commercial evacuations had been moved away from this area; piles of rock were much smaller, and constantly being moved in a random but somewhat orderly process. Today, there were few serious scientists in the groups looking for small bits and pieces left over by the serious researchers and kids outnumbered adults. A holiday atmosphere infused the barren landscape of rock and dirt and sand with children and adults enjoying the day.

The ground was flat as the river bed of millions of years ago, yet in front of her eyes, Charley had disappeared. Sara ran, quickly realizing the ground was swallowing the child. What appeared as hard-packed soil was sinking, pulling Charley down.

"Grissom!" She shouted as loud as she could as she made a running leap onto the moving ground. Sliding and clawing for a handhold, she yelled, "Grab my feet, Charley!" Her arms lashed outward and her fists closed to find only running sand. She could see the boy's arms were free but in his fright, all he could do was look at her with wide eyes as sand closed around both of them.

Somehow she edged closer, hooking one foot under his arm. "Charley—help me! Grab my foot!"

The sand was to his chest; his arms still free but now all she could hear were his screams as frantic took over. She managed to grab his collar with one hand and threw her other arm upward. All she could think was she did not want to die here in sliding sand.

_A/N: Everything couldn't be fluff and happening in bed!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The First Christmas Chapter 6**

A hand closed on her outstretched one—a hand she recognized.

"We've got you," the voice belonged to Grissom.

Slowly, it seemed, but actually in a few seconds, Sara and Charley were pulled out of the sinkhole, no more than six feet across. Grissom held her so tightly she almost passed out as she repeated a dozen times she was fine. Charley had been scooped up by his father and when his sisters arrived with distressed cries, he shrugged and grinned, forgetting how frightened he had been as he showed off his amber find.

A crowd gathered, many reaching to help, to give water, to praise the fast actions of the American woman for saving a child. Amazing everyone, neither Sara nor Charley had visible cuts, only a few scratches on their hands. Sara knew her back burned and dismissed it as tension and scrapes from her slide.

Before an hour passed, as they were eating lunch, two government officials arrived on motorcycles to check the sinkhole. Sara did not try to follow the serious and animated discussions between them, Dr. Delmar, and several others as the area was probed and poked, handfuls of sand passed from one to another. Caution flags and a yellow rope were placed around the sink hole. Grissom sat beside her, a hand on her shoulder or her knee, listening intently.

Sara understood enough French to know a very significant and academic debate was occurring and the crowd that formed with the arrival of the motorcycles slowly dispersed.

"Are you following this?" Grissom asked. She nodded. The men walked around the hole a dozen times; a man arrived with some type of electronic soil testing instrument.

Sara said, "Go on—I'm fine. Charley and I will search for more amber." She knew Grissom was eager to join whatever was going on around the sink hole. Charley stayed beside Sara, saying he would find another piece of amber, one with a perfect bug inside it, just for her.

His laugh was infectious, especially after what had happened. "You were sliding to me like a baseball player getting to home plate! Do you watch baseball? I love baseball—we go every summer. Who's your favorite team?"

Sara bent over a pile of rocks and scooped up a handful. "You're a good kid, Charley Delmar," she said. He grinned as he mimicked her. Their conversation turned to rocks, shapes and colors of rocks, names of minerals. The boy was a wealth of information—and resilient. The sinkhole experience had passed from his active thoughts.

They found no more amber and, quietly, without a lot of excitement, everyone was asked to leave for safety reasons and a few more officials and mining experts arrived. Walking back to the bus stop, Grissom and Delmar explained the developing hypothesis of the sudden appearance of the sinkhole.

Sand and rock covered the surface of the pit; this particular spot appeared to be a natural swallow hole—a chasm that filled with sand with every rain. Weeks of dry weather had enlarged the crack and caused a hollow, or an underground hole, to form. Charley had broken the crust, much like thin ice in the center of a pond.

By the time they boarded the train, joining other travelers heading to the city, the group of seven packed into two benches. Charley climbed into Sara's lap and stretched once before falling asleep. The two men talked and not long after one of the girls leaned against Grissom's shoulder, Sara did the same, waking as the train slowed to stop in the big station.

"You saved my son today, Sara. Tonight, we will celebrate!"

_A Parisian Party_

In hours the day had been short—no more than seven hours had passed since Sara and Grissom had closed the door of the apartment, but the physical and emotional toll had drained both. Inside, Grissom pressed the button for the elevator and they waited as the unit groaned and clanked to a stop.

Grissom said, "It was a very brave thing you did today."

"It wasn't bravery, Gil. I was scared." She smiled. "Charley said I looked like I was sliding into home."

The elevator hissed to a stop.

"You saved his life—he may not realize it today, but one day he will."

Sara pulled him into a kiss. "I knew your hand had mine."

He shook his head. "I don't even remember running!"

A shower, cool lotion spread across her back, where gravel and sand had given Sara a serious 'road rash' type of abrasion, revitalized her. She wanted to surprise Grissom with her dress so while he showered, she hurriedly hooked and zipped and piled her hair up and was searching for shoes when he stepped from the bathroom.

"Whoa! Who is this?"

"Oh! Close your eyes—I'm not ready for you!"

Grissom deep chuckle caused her to laugh but he closed his eyes. He had seen enough of her backside to get him ready. It took a few minutes for her to say, "Okay, open your eyes!"

Sara's beauty, so different from most women, had attracted Gil Grissom the first time they had met. There was a calm innocence that made her almost childlike, but behind her outward appearance, something else lay, and that provoked him. For years, he had dreamed of her, not as a child, but as a beautiful woman unfolding her secrets to him. And standing in front of him was his dream, with a look of innocence and mischievousness in the same face.

He twirled his finger and she turned. "I have to do something to my hair. You like?"

He tightened the towel around his waist. "Yeah."

The dress of dark blue watered silk fit in all the right places, flaring to its hem right above her knees. The neckline scooped just enough to show off cleavage—and, he knew, some kind of wonder-under bra was pushing up more than usual. He would rather see it on the floor, but for this party, she was beautiful and pleasantly understated but noticeable.

"Your hair is fine," he said. "But, you need one more thing." He pulled open a drawer and removed a wrapped package. "This was for Christmas morning, but you need them tonight."

Inside, Sara found earrings and a necklace—each piece a mosaic of stones, crystals with delicate colors of pinks and blues like the ones she had admired for a minute in the store window.

"These are from the store…" she stopped as he grinned.

"I already had these. I knew you would like her work."

…They were welcomed as honored guests at the party. Dr. Delmar's wife, in very subtle ways, introduced Sara to everyone as the lady who was with Charley today. Their children appeared briefly, dressed for the holidays. Charley moved quietly to Sara's side and slipped his hand into hers.

Sara knew it was his amber before she looked. "I want you to have it," he said.

She knelt to face him. "You don't have to give me this, Charley."

"I want to—it's the one with the ant. I—I want to keep the one I found today, but I wanted you to have a present from me. For being my friend."

She hugged the little boy. "Are you okay? You won't think about that sinkhole too much, will you?"

He giggled. "My dad found a website on sinkholes. There're lots of them in Florida. I might go to Florida and see a really big one—that would be fun, don't you think?"

She agreed, as she agreed with his parents for the way they were overcoming a near-death experience. She wished she had grown up parents like his.

_A/N: Thanks for reading; next chapter--soon, tomorrow or the next. _


	7. Chapter 7

**The First Christmas Chapter 7**

Sara met everyone, a dozen or so visiting professors, researchers, and graduate students, their spouses or significant others. Most wives and husbands were like her—working elsewhere and dealing with the difficulties of living apart. One of the women worked in South Africa, another in Asia, a husband came from Peru. And everyone seemed to be waiting for a grant or funding or a research project to develop so they could be together. It was the world they lived in, unlike some in Vegas, no one gave a second thought to their living arrangements.

Sara and Grissom were among intelligent, well read professionals, the wine flowed, Dr. Delmar and his wife were fine cooks, and the children in the house were enjoying a party while adults talked of interests other than what their kids were doing. Conversations linked politics and wars with environment, famine, and favorite research topics from insects to birth rates. One couple had traveled in China and told of the difficulties in getting anything done while the exhilaration of being in a place where so much was changing made the visit well worth the effort.

The food, the conversations, the telling of on-going research, and the endless supply of wines filled the night. There was holiday food from every corner of France—smoked salmon, eggplant, beans, crepes with fruit and chocolate, courgecireuse—a melon soup, calisson candy, breads, biscuits, a dozen cheeses, puffs of pastry dipped in honey, and buche de Noel. The Parisians were enthusiastic in suggestions for their visitors—visiting different crèche displays around the city, plays and puppet shows, holiday displays in museums, church services and midnight mass on Christmas Eve as well as ways to celebrate "le Reveillon"—eating a big meal after mass, and walking in neighborhoods displaying luminaries in windows "to light the way of Mary".

Dr. Delmar's wife had wrapped special treats for each guest on their departure—fruit cakes and candies and nuts—for everyone to enjoy on Christmas morning. As Sara and Grissom left, the Delmar's were emotional in giving their farewells knowing their lives could have changed without Sara's quick action earlier in the day.

The party goers followed directions to the nearest metro station walking along narrow streets with balconies that almost touched from either side of the street. A small church opened its doors moments before the group passed and a holiday congregation joined the progression to the train station. A few couples stumbled from a corner bar, adding their laughter to those waiting for the next train. An older woman from the church passed a plastic bag to a girl from the bar group, causing several people to move away for what was coming.

Grissom moved them to the end of the platform, leaned against the wall and wrapped arms around Sara.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes—tired, but fine."

He kissed her, prolonging contact until he needed to breathe. "I've wanted to make out with you all night."

She grinned. "Hold that thought just a little longer." She whispered as the train glided to a stop.

_Dresses—on Sara _

Grissom loved to see his wife in a dress. The one she wore flowed around her hips like water in a stream and the way the fabric wrapped around her breasts—he hoped no one noticed the ravenous looks he was giving her. Tonight, he had nearly followed her to the bathroom after she leaned against him and he felt her nipples brush his arm.

Sara was one of those women who could wear any dress and look gorgeously sexy. He preferred the short ones that showed off her legs—those long slim legs ending with feet in high heels. She did not often wear that combination which was probably good. Years ago, he had nearly left a Vegas party when she wore a short slip of a dress that cupped her butt in a cute way and all the men seemed to suddenly notice that 'Sidle' was a woman! He did not want a repeat of that night when he had been unable to leave the table because of an almost uncontrollable desire to get her out of that dress and into bed.

"Gil—what are you thinking?"

He jerked when he felt her hand on his face.

"This is our stop—what are you thinking about?"

They maneuvered off the train amid noise of the station before he answered. "I was thinking about you," he said with a grin. "About a certain red dress you wore once. Do you remember?"

Her laughter was immediate and rolled and splashed across her face. "The Law Enforcement Winter Party—you wouldn't dance with me!"

"I couldn't dance with you—not with a third leg trying to jump out of my pants!"

She laughed harder. "Was that it?"

"Yeah—I don't want to talk about that—do you still have that dress?"

"You didn't know? That was Catherine's dress! I wasn't going and she brought the dress to me. After all this time you remember that dress!" She tossed her head back and laughed, pulling his hand to her lips.

"I remember a white one—was that Catherine's too?"

"No, that was mine. I paid a lot for that dress trying to impress you. Greg spilled wine on it after we left the party. By the time we woke up—well, that stain didn't come out."

He growled. "What's with 'we woke up'?"

She stopped in the street and kissed him. "You know I love Greg—and Nick and Jim, and sometimes Hodges. Those are the only men I would ever consider leaving you for…" She smiled and kissed him again. "But you are my lover—the person I love with so much passion it hurts—and it frightens me sometimes." In the streetlights, he could see the serious darkness collect in her eyes as her hand caressed his chin.

She kissed him again before resuming their walk. "I always thought you had something to do with those nights. After I was stopped and you had to take me home—after that, one of the guys always made sure I got home—no driving—but cab ride if we were all partying. More than once, everyone slept at my place." She paused a minute. "Except you—you never took me home again—until—do you remember?"

He chuckled. "I should have taken more time with you, Sara. I came when Ecklie wanted to fire you and I took you home after Adam Trent nearly killed you—I tried to change after that." They had arrived at the apartment and he pressed for the elevator. "My mother was right. She always said I was so single-minded I would miss my bus if I didn't get my head out of a microscope."

As the elevator arrived he wondered how his mother had gotten into the conversation when he had been thinking about Sara in a sexy dress. The elevator creaked and squeaked to a stop and with a few steps they were inside their apartment.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! This one will be finished by the end of the week._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8--major smut alert, nothing graphic--**enjoy!

_Inside the apartment, 5__th__ arrondissement _

If words were spoken, the two would not remember them. As the door closed, Sara's mouth met his smiling lips with a gentle kiss. They lingered, began to play and tease, seeking, warming each other. Like two mutes, they moved across the floor. He searched for a zipper or buttons.

In frustration, he asked, "How do you get out of this thing?" His fingertips touched her neck, pulling at the fabric.

She laughed quietly. "It's here." She raised her arm and he found the zipper in the side seam. She shrugged and the dress slipped from her shoulders pooling at her feet leaving her in her bra and panties of the same color.

Grissom's finger traced the edge of her bra—he grinned. It was new and hooked in the front. He pushed it off letting his thumbs brush her nipples before moving hands along each side of her body. His fingers stopped at her panties, lace and blue, low on her hips. He knelt and felt her fingers in his hair. Leaning forward, he kissed one thigh, then the other.

"You have on too many clothes," Sara whispered.

As quickly as her dress had dropped, his jacket was thrown one way, his shirt another, and his pants joined their shoes.

"Dear God, you are beautiful." Slowly he drew her to him, caressing her body, the strength, the beauty, the scent of her as she responded, pushing against him. Happy, he thought, they were both happy, as he felt fire grow, felt it alive in both of them, turning their bed into a vital, breathing center in the quiet night.

He would never say they had sex; each time they did this, he knew it was a form of love. Once, in the beginning, Sara had used the f-word to describe what they did together. It had hurt him—even though he had never said "love" to her—and she knew it had as she asked a question.

"What is it, then?" She asked as she rolled against him, placed lips against the tender white area of his shoulder and sucked. She knew it would leave a mark.

That morning her eyes had been as dark as melted chocolate—cocoa, he remembered thinking. And he told her he loved her. It was a Sunday.

Tonight, Grissom bent over Sara's face, kissing her, when suddenly, he saw her eyes, warm brown, and her skin took on a gentle glow. He turned his head; the moon was rising over the edge of a nearby building. He watched as the soft white light danced across her face. She smiled as she realized what he was watching. His fingers moved slowly with the moonlight, pushing the covers aside as the moon rose and shone on her shoulders and breasts. Completely enraptured, unexpected, he followed the light with his eyes and lips, looking, kissing, soft touches in intimate places; she held still as though he was discovering her for the first time. After a time, he pulled the covers over their bodies. Drawn together and entangled in one another, they were lost.

Grissom lifted her knee and kissed a long red abrasion, moving slowly and gently to her thigh. His lips touched the darken triangle between her legs as he placed her leg on his shoulder.

"Gil," she whispered. She shifted and he followed as she repositioned, working his finger into the warm, wet place he desired. He flicked his tongue against her pink folds, separating, tasting, breathing in the scent of this woman.

Sara's fingers circled his rigid shaft, her thumb stroked as her lips touched its end. Her fingers cupped, massaged, tightened as her mouth encircled him. He moaned, arched his hips, and he knew she smiled. She's controlling this, he thought. He knew he would not last long if she kept this going.

His fingers moved within her, rotating, stroking, feeling her tissues swell and tighten, as he gently blew against her. He purposefully pulled his hips away from her.

"I can't take much of this," he mumbled. He heard a soft laugh. Sara rearranged herself, slowly, taking her time as she trailed kisses from his penis up his belly to one nipple, then the other. He groaned and moaned, knowing she knew his enjoyment of her process. Finally, she reached his lips.

"You are prolonging this on purpose," he accused, letting her stay above him, as her hair fell on either side of his face. She smiled, wiggled her hips, shifted, and he was inside her. He groaned a deep rumble that took his breath. His eyes closed.

Sara rocked against him, slowly, bringing her knees to press against his thighs. "Open you eyes," she said. The slow rhythm of her movements lasted several minutes as their eyes locked. Her breasts touched his chest, pulled away, and touched him again, her nipples sending a passionate awareness through his body. Every cell in his body intensified with building passion.

His hands on her butt felt her muscles tighten. "I want you, Sara."

She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and rolled, locking her legs around his. He plunged deeper. She gasped, pulling air into her lungs in a warm wave against his neck. Quickly, he pushed, pulled, faster; he knew she was reaching her climax. He continued pumping, quicker than before as she arched her back and made a sound. The feeling of tightness around his shaft strengthened as wave after wave of Sara's muscle contractions built and abated.

At some point, in the manner of love making, their actions became too much for Grissom to remember. He exploded—physically his body, no longer under control, could take no more stimulation; mentally he lost conscious thoughts for a time.

Deep in his throat, there came the sound of satisfaction, happiness, as he watched Sara's dark eyes soften and mellow, a slight golden shiver came from the depth of her eyes, sparkling as the ocean on a cloudless day. All the happiness, the immense pleasure, a human being could experience seemed to come together in this moment.

Later, Grissom whispered in her ear, "Forgive me for not being able to tell you sooner, when you came to Vegas, when you needed me, a dozen times I should have said this. I love you so much—you have always meant more to me than I could say—many times I have been unable to speak in your presence—you have added richness to my life in ways you will never know."

Sara snuggled against him, murmuring some unclear words against his chest.

He continued, "I know love because of you—I have loved and been loved because of you. You cannot imagine what that means—my heart has not dried up but is living and beating because of you."

He felt her smile against his skin. With a soft, loving voice, she said, "A dozen times, I thought you loved me. But I have always loved you. I had given up—never daring to hope you would come to me, but you did. In a moment when I had nothing left, when I had all but abandoned hope, you came." She kissed him again and moved her legs around his.

Exhaustion had finally found them, wrapped in a duvet, moonlight fading, Sara slept before he did, but not by many minutes. They lay together, content and satisfied, sleeping until the sun warmed their bed on Christmas Eve.

_A/N: Leave a review, please. May be two days before the next chapter is up! Enjoy---_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thanks to those leaving a review--and if you haven't, please do! This one will be finished by Sunday._

**Chapter 9**

_Paris on Christmas Eve _

Sara woke first and, wearing nothing, she ran from bed to kitchen in ten steps, set the pot for tea, and poured a glass of juice before Grissom knew she was gone. He missed his warm bedfellow just as she slid beside him with cold feet and chilled juice in her hand.

"I'm not ready to get up," he complained before remembering the rough fall she had taken the day before. "How are you? Your back?"

She handed him the glass. "I'm fine—more than fine." She crawled under the covers.

Goosebumps popped on his skin as Sara's feet touched his leg. "What are you doing?" He asked.

Sara's head had disappeared, her hands searched the bed. "Looking for my socks."

The teapot whistled. Grissom got out of bed, ambled across the floor—nude. "Stay in bed."

She watched as he made tea, returned to bed with two cups, walked to the bathroom, and returned with socks.

"Your socks, dear."

Watching her husband walk around the tiny apartment wearing no clothes had been enough to warm Sara. She had other thoughts and when he arched an eyebrow, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, she knew he was thinking the same.

Their tea cooled…

"Some times you need a quickie," Sara said laughed as she pulled the sheet over her chest and tucked it under Grissom's chin.

Grissom's head lay on her shoulder. He had been enjoying the 'view' of two perky breasts under his hand. This had become a favorite ritual—playing and teasing Sara after a hurried and energetic few minutes of making love. They both knew—men's libido was highest in early morning and she was happy to fulfill his need. He knew—as did she—the fast moving act did not completely satisfy her, yet she would never complain. He made sure she had no reason, and sometimes, he was rewarded in more ways than one.

"Tell me again why we are living thousands of miles apart?" He said. He felt her hard nipple between his fingers, lifted his head to take it in his lips. He felt her fingers rake his hair.

"So you don't tire of me—so we can do this all day—and no phones are ringing."

His hand glided downward. A 'quickie' was fine for him, especially after last night, he thought, but his sensual wife had a low burning fire within her waiting for him.

His fingers closed over her intimate area, his palm pressed and moved in small circles. One finger slipped inside her, still wet and warm. He looked at her face, flushed and beautiful, eyes dilated pools of darkness. She would let him do this—touch her as no one had ever done before—he was sure of it. The first time, as he lay spent and soft against her, she almost refused, unsure of her role. Yet her body knew, and as he stimulated her, she responded.

In the beginning, she was curious—what pleasure did he receive, she asked. And he said—"from you, watching you, seeing your emotions, that's my pleasure, knowing what I do fulfills your desire, knowing you trust me."

He watched, as she watched him. She moved with a purposeful rhythm. His thumb massaged her growing bud of passion, his fingers moved inside her, sweeping clockwise. Her muscles tightened as her back arched. As occasionally happened, he was hard. In one fast movement he was on top of her, sliding into her. As his eyes shut in the most pleasurable moment known to men, he saw her smile.

They did leave the bed, and the apartment that day. Clouds had returned giving a reflective grey to the city. Yet the city of light sparkled, buildings were whiter, the bright colors in windows seemed to glow as Sara and Grissom joined throngs who walked the streets.

Paris was easy to walk with wide sidewalks and mostly level ground. There were always well-known attractions and sights to see and a dozen ways to see them. In a place that seemed planned for lovers, the two found it easy to block out everything else. Yet random things caught their attention—a fat squirrel perched on a fountain, a young couple posing as statues in a park, three old men wearing identical clothing sitting on a park bench.

"You looked very French," Sara told Grissom as they started out. He grinned as she captured his elbow with her hand.

"Mrs. Grissom—you look ready for a portrait painter your self."

She threw the brightly striped scarf around her neck and smiled. The look on his face spoke more clearly than words. "I'm happy, Gil."

His grin spread across his face. "Me too."

Sara knew Grissom was happier than he had been in years. The weight of the lab had lifted from his shoulders and taken years off his face. He said he had changed; Sara thought he had found his true self again—laughing easily, playful and gracious—and serious about a passion he had forgotten amid the death and destruction of crime. She had been able to return to that place she had left in despair because of him, because returning was for a short time and she could do "a good thing" by helping her friends with their work. It was also easier knowing Grissom would be waiting—on the phone or in person—to discuss what she had seen and done, what he was doing, the very mundane daily issues that faced everyone.

Today, on Christmas Eve, Grissom had gotten tickets to "the most beautiful place in Paris" for a concert of chamber music. Sara realized the exceptional circumstances of the event by the short line. They had waited over an hour the first time they had visited this place with its expanse of colored windows soaring to a beautiful vaulted ceiling.

"How did you manage this?" She asked—for their plans were not to be here for Christmas.

Grissom chuckled. "Magic, my dear," he said, holding up the two tickets as they passed another checkpoint. "Quite by accident, one of the professors put these up for sale the day you said you were coming."

The line moved quickly once they entered the building and made their way to the upper chapel where the stained glass in rich-hued reds and blues floated above the arranged chairs. The windows had been designed to tell the story of the Bible from creation to redemption with over a thousand figures in glass. In addition to the windows, which many visitors saw as the primary reason for the chapel, statues of the twelve apostles in flowing robes were placed around the chapel. These men in stone amazed Sara—they appeared so lifelike—almost ready to step down from their place and walk the streets of Paris. After their first visit, they had returned several times and she studied each statue finding new details each time.

"I think this is what living in a jewel box would be like," she whispered as the chapel brightened with light and color.

_A/N: Send a few words as a review so we know who is reading! Thanks!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The soothing strings, the intimacy of the chapel seating no more than 50 people on folding chairs, the musical conversations of Vitali, Vivaldi, Mozart, and Beethoven combined with brilliant beams of light reflecting around the chapel to give a sense of serenity to this place and the audience. Sara knew little about this music—she was learning, as she was learning about other interests of her spouse. She recognized this ensemble of musicians were not amateurs, she knew the names of the instruments, and recognized the composers, unlike Grissom who knew the titles of the music as well as who wrote it, and, sometimes, the year it was written. She had learned to like "his music" just as he was learning, at a slower pace, to enjoy the music she liked. She smiled at her thoughts and felt his hand squeeze hers.

His fingers eased against her palm and moved. Without looking down, she felt him sign three words; it was the first three words she had learned in sign language.

During the concert, a noticeable change occurred in lighting—the soft light had brightened, lighting the room in rays of reds and blues, reflecting off the gold columns, adding magic to the concert. Near the end, the light changed again, softening and diffusing colors. And even in the crowded room, a chill swept around the audience. The last music played was traditional songs, and the drop in temperature added to the season.

As they made their way down the narrow spiral staircase and doors were opened, a collective sound of amazement came from everyone. The gray fog and clouds of the afternoon had turned to snow—soft, feathery stuff that floated down slowly in the windless sky. Everyone laughed in amazement at the transformation—the snow crunched beneath their shoes, coated benches and bare trees and hedges, and changed sidewalks into white paths. The flakes stuck to their hair and made their breaths into mists, and seemed to muffle the sounds of conversations and traffic. Occasionally there was a shout or cry, usually high-pitched as a child discovered the joys of new snow.

They walked, perhaps better described, they wandered, walking together arm in arm, finding it easy to talk, easy to say whatever came up. They talked of their past, the future; she laughed at his love of certain music. He agreed with her on certain political opinions adding his own comments about the French president's Italian wife. She laughed as he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.

They walked for miles in the snow, and, by accident, found one of the neighborhoods decorated with luminaries and lights for Christmas Eve.

"Let's do it," they said as one, laughing and touching gloved hands to the other's face.

"It's good," he said.

Sara knew what he meant.

They walked through a neighborhood of brick and stone houses, shaded in summer with tall trees but tonight bathed in white lights draped across the streets. They twisted and turned along several streets until the lights ended at a church with a living crèche. Breathtakingly beautiful in its simplicity with children dressed in white as angels and pale blue as shepherds, a solemn boy as Joseph and a smiling adolescent as Mary.

Unexpected tears formed in Sara's eyes seeing the kids playing rather than performing. The girls giggled and caught snow on their tongues and arranged shiny gold tinsel in each other's hair. The shepherd boys kicked at snow and made chopping motions with their hands. While it bordered on confused bedlam, there were some unnoticeable directions. The angels gathered and sang an appropriate song; the shepherds grouped together and a few of them managed to sing several lines of a carol before it evolved into a solo by one little boy who knew the words. The others mumbled and waved at parents and the crowd.

An older choir joined the children to sing more traditional carols until the church clock struck midnight. A brief flick of spotlights and a doll as baby Jesus appeared in the arms of the girl. The choir sang a few more songs before ending the performance with a soft rendition of a favorite of children; Sara quietly sang the words in English. She could not remember the last time these words had come from her mouth.

_Christmas Day in Paris_

The two decided to forego the traditional Christmas Eve French meal, _le Reveillon_, and wandered along snow covered streets as crowds gradually thinned and the night became silent and immensely private. A crust of snow glittered on every undisturbed surface and they stopped near one of the old Metropolitan entrance signs, having no notion of where they were.

"We need to ride—my feet are frozen if I think about them," Grissom complained.

Sara agreed and they headed downward into the station to find a bustling crowd of merrymakers waiting for the train. A quick check of the metro map and they knew their apartment was three stops away…

For the first time since leaving the apartment hours earlier, they hurried. Even the constant Paris traffic had all but vanished, and disappeared completely on side streets as snow continued to fall. Turning into the narrow cul-de-sac they found a carpet of undisturbed snow frosted the street, the sidewalk, the cars, even street lights wore a cap of snow. Only a few windows and balconies twinkled with lights yet the reflecting snow caused buildings to glow with an exotic radiance.

Sara paused. "It's a gift," she said. Grissom's quizzical look made her laugh. "I missed snow in Vegas last year." Their footprints were the first—or the last—of the night as the snow continued to fall in fluffy flakes and to the careless observer, their steps were covered in minutes.

Grissom ran steaming water into the tub and called for Sara. He helped peeled away her layers and laughed at her three shirts until the last one was removed and he saw the bruise from her shoulder to her hip. He grimaced as his hand gently touched its edge.

"Honey, this looks bad."

She barely gave it a backward glance. "I'm fine. It's doesn't hurt—much."

He pointed at the tub. "Soak, I'll be right back." He added a handful of crystals from a jar and stirred them about. "Stay here." She smiled and leaned back against the tub.

In a few minutes she heard a squeak of a cork as he opened wine and another minute passed before music played—one of his favorites. She closed her eyes, heard him enter the bathroom, and felt a glass touch her shoulder.

"I like this bath," she said as she took the wine. "Just right."

Grissom unbuttoned his shirt and pants and waggled a finger indicating he was joining her. She rose up and in a few seconds, he climbed in, sitting behind her, wrapping an arm around her as she leaned against him.

"Now it's just right," he said.

Twice they added hot water as they soaked away the damp cold from their long walk in the snow. Well after midnight, they dried each other and dressed in warm fleece before making sandwiches of cheese and pickles and day old bread spread with butter. Grissom watched Sara tear into the sandwich as her hair fell across her face. She was beautiful, he thought, the work of God or nature, as her eyes lifted to meet his.

"Yes?" She asked, raising an eyebrow very slightly.

Her face was flushed—from the bath, the wine, or pleasure, he wasn't sure. When she met his eyes, he saw peace and happiness, and courage and fulfillment. Nothing overwhelming, others would not notice, but to him it was everything she possessed.

_A/N: Two more chapters to finish this one! Thanks for your comments! _


	11. Chapter 11

**The First Christmas Chapter 11**

Grissom woke in a kind of heaven. He was curled against a warm body, her back spooned against him as she slept on his left arm; his right arm wrapped and held by Sara's hands. She smelled of heaven, he decided, or how he wanted heaven to smell. A little hint of citrus, a fragrance of salty air, and a slight aroma of lavender, all mixed together in a human way. For a time, he lay there, eyes closed, and simply inhaled.

Christmas morning—he should get up, he thought, prepare breakfast, slip the gifts from their hiding place and put them around the little tree. He decided not to move, to let unconsciousness come again as he nuzzled his face into the dark hair and breathed. If anything moved or made noise, he was unaware of it, outside of this bed.

When he woke the second time, his position had not changed, but his arm was free of its weight. He felt her hand stroking his hair as long, slender fingers lifted his curls. Gradually he moved his head so she became aware that he was awake and moved her palm to his face. He raised his head and kissed her fingers. He returned a smile and kissed her.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Grissom."

Her smile broadened. "Merry Christmas, husband, and look at our beautiful tree." She kissed him, gently, touching his face, and making a quick breath before she reached behind his head, stretching an arm and leaning across his face. His hand touched her chest, just below her breast, and when she settled back in bed with a small wrapped package in her hand, he wanted to hold her just like that—his fingers curled around a favorite intimate area. But she was laughing, and saying something.

"Open this first!" She presented the gold wrapped gift to him with a smile and a kiss.

He frowned. "I haven't put your presents around the tree—I wanted to earlier—I think I went back to sleep."

"Open!" She commanded. By the look on her face, he could tell she was pleased.

As soon as he saw the box, he said, "You shouldn't have—this is too much." He lifted the black pen from its case; the fountain pen with its well-known white emblem balanced in his fingers.

"I ordered it weeks ago—I know you've wanted one."

"Yeah. This is nice." He held the pen as if he were writing.

She reached again. "Here's something else." Another gold wrapped package appeared in her hand.

"No," he crawled out of bed, "You get one next." He shivered as he hurried across the floor, opened a drawer and brought several gifts to the bed mumbling about the cold.

Sara had pulled the window coverings open. She said, "It looks like a winter wonderland—and cold!" She leaned over and pulled a shopping bag from under the bed. Inside were more wrapped presents.

Grissom snuggled back under the covers. "We said we would keep it simple this year."

Sara giggled. "I lied—and so did you!"

She opened the gift he presented—a favorite book in its first edition.

His second box was ink for his pen; hers was a pair of hair clips. She gave him a blank book for his notes; she unwrapped a colorful silk scarf. He kept shuffling a small box to the side, saying to open it last. Another gift for Sara was a watch with the Eiffel Tower as its face.

"It's to remind you daily that I'm sleeping while you work," Grissom said as he slipped it on her wrist.

She gave him two new movies—to fill his nights when she was in Vegas, she said. And they laughed when both opened boxes containing gloves.

At last, the small box was the only one left. "Because you are you—the woman I love much more than I say. To remember our first Christmas as husband and wife and to make up for staying in Paris a few more weeks."

Sara's hand shook slightly as she opened the box to find another smaller jewelry box. Inside, on a delicate braided gold chain was a dark green emerald, exquisite and elegant in its simple setting.

"Oh, Gil, this is beautiful!"

"Lift your hair," he said as he took it to fasten around her neck. "This belonged to my mother and my grandmother. My mother wore it as a ring but it was my grandmother's necklace—I thought you would like this."

Her fingers touched the stone. "I do."

"I should have given it to you before now." He chuckled. "I thought we would be on a warm beach and you would be wearing almost nothing instead of fuzzy pajamas."

Hunger got them out of bed and from a simple breakfast of cooked cereal and juice, toast and tea, they began preparations for soup—cutting vegetables, simmering, and working together so they could touch and be touched. They could have gone out to walk again, but chose to have a quiet and private day of reading and talking and cooking and eating. This was how they could spend days, they agreed.

After eating soup poured over thick slices of bread, and cheese and fruit, Sara took the box of cookies and cakes and candied fruit and placed it beside the bed. She filled a glass with water, added two wine glasses and a bottle of wine to her bedside collection. When she disappeared into the bathroom—which was the only room with a door in the apartment—Grissom followed.

"May I ask your plans, Mrs. Grissom?" He asked as he tapped on the door.

He heard a giggle. "Wait. You have one more present. Sit on the bed—I'll be out in a second."

She had smoothed the covers over the bed, so he stepped back, sat down and waited as told. And watched the door. In only seconds, the door opened and he smiled.

As graceful as a dancer, she moved across the room wearing a silky red top—and panties to match. She was lovely, he decided, with smooth, taut skin and curves and softness in the right places. For a moment, he simply looked at her and, in the way of lovers, their unspoken thoughts and spirits joined and floated together.

She posed and laughed and melted on top of him before pulling his shirt over his head. Then he fell on her like a wolf literally trying to taste the best parts of her but deciding all parts were the best. He touched her and she flexed with pleasure, returning favors in her own way. In the middle of the afternoon, he understood that sometimes there was no reaching the end of desire, no satisfying it. They simply would not ever get enough of each other.

He told her this and she laughed, saying "We are making a beginning."

Much later, when they had no strength to continue even after eating cookies and drinking wine, they fell asleep, still pressed together with sheets tangled around their legs, and in the midst of some wicked and playful conversation. Before midnight, Grissom woke to feel fingers lightly tickling his chest and the whisper of lips against his neck.

He sighed in a way that signaled he was awake and turned his head so he could meet her lips.

"I love waking up this way," he whispered.

Her mouth curved in a slow, face changing smile. "So do I."

Desire so powerful it threatened to consume every sensation swept through him—he was already aroused—and she knew it. He kissed her holding her tightly and feeling her nails against his skin. He remembered her bruise and slackened his hold. Her mouth opened and her tongue swept along his teeth. His hands slid down her back, a sound of passion escaping his mouth as he traced the curve of her butt. His hands urged her snugly against his groin. She smiled within his kiss.

He felt the peaks of her nipples pressing against his chest and placed his hand over the swell of her breasts. His lips left hers and moved along her neck seeking elsewhere. When he closed on the dark nipple, she responded with a gasp of pleasure and moved her hand from his neck—the heat of her fingers so intense that he swallowed a groan that caused his breath to shudder.

Sara's hand closed around his own hand taking it and moving both hands lower. Her fingers sought him and stroked gently. His hand caressed her back side, fingers sliding along her cleft; her leg lifted over his hip. His fingers dipped lower finding the place where she was warm and damp.

She kissed his throat, his chest, his chin, keeping her fingers wrapped around his rigid penis, her thumb and finger moving slowly, deliberately. She shifted, moving underneath him. Her body tightened at his touch, clenching and pulling him into her. His hands clamped her hips as he plunged; he heard her breath, a soft catch against his ear as waves of pleasure joined the slow rhythm of their bodies. In the bed warmed by their bodies, they fell into a sparkling spiral of emotions that sent passion to the center of their brains and literally made their hearts throb with beats they could each feel.

They were companions, soul mates, husband and wife, and lovers—the best of each with the other.

_A/N: One more chapter--tomorrow, probably early in the day! Enjoy, leave a review!!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_The Days Afterwards—Finale_

The snow left as quickly as it arrived. A cold rain washed all traces of the frozen white flakes away before it had time to turn to road slush. Sara and Grissom walked along the river in a mist and watched glass covered _bateaux mouches _float by appearing as lighted glass globes in a river of gray.

Late one afternoon they stood on the _Pont-Neuf_, one of many bridges crossing the Seine, as spotlights from the boats lit up the Paris sky and the points of interest. They walked along narrow streets finding surprises at every turn—shop windows filled with the very old and the newest trinkets, facades and doorways designed by Napoleon's planners, and picturesque squares with icy ponds and empty green chairs. So much seemed never to change in Paris, unlike Las Vegas, and they both contemplated the differences in the two places--not for the first time.

They returned their living tree to the florist who tagged it for delivery and planting.

The Delmar's sent a gift to Sara—the softest cashmere sweater set with matching beret along with a short hand-written note from Charley thanking her for saving him from the sinkhole and his plans to visit a very large one in Florida in the summer.

They laundered sheets and towels, cleaned the refrigerator—Sara knew if she did not do it, he would find no reason to perform these tasks until she returned, and packed the Christmas ornaments into a box to be shipped to Vegas.

The night before their flight, they ate at a small restaurant, one of those places tourists pass by but Parisians love because of its good food, excellent but limited wine selections, and impeccable service.

"You make me very happy, Sara," Grissom said, reaching his arm across the table to take Sara's hand. He managed to kiss her fingers in spite of the distance from where he sat. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. Sara knew he had retrieved the mail from the box earlier in the day. "Today, we got official notification that our grant has been accepted." Sara's eyes brightened but before she could say anything, he held up his finger. "Accepted for consideration—that means we are short-listed."

Sara smiled. "Short-listed—that's good. Nearly everyone said it would take at least two applications to be considered. We've beat those odds." She was thinking that perhaps her time in Vegas would be much shorter than they had thought.

"But I'll be home in a few weeks—promise!"

She smiled again and Grissom was sure she was unaware of how alluring she looked, how very French she appeared in her beret and black sweater, and how European she seemed as she picked up her fork with her left hand.

Their last night in Paris, the last time they would share this bed for this year, Grissom said as he folded back the duvet. He was wearing his soft knit shirt and pants, just out of the shower, as Sara packed her things, stuffing her bags with a dozen little things she had purchased as gifts.

"Can I use your bag for a few things?"

Grissom had packed a small bag, deciding he needed only a change of clothing as he had a closet filled with pants and shirts and shoes in Las Vegas. Sara insisted he should wear his long coat and hat to the airport because he would need it when he returned.

"Of course—you don't have to ask."

She giggled and recited the often quoted airport security announcement and as she said the last word, he reached for her. He had decided it was his right, their privilege—an entitlement—to love and desire each other all the time. She responded to his touch by latching arms around his neck and backing him to the bed. She could finish packing her things tomorrow, she said.

He knew he had never before been the lover he was with her. His brain cells, his muscles, his nerves, and his emotions responded to her touch, to her presence, to her scent, overwhelming his need for anything else.

"How can I let you go?" He asked.

Her answer was, "But you are going with me." In his eyes she recognized the meaning of his question. Softly, caressing his face, she said, "It's not for long, Gil. I can do this because of you. You and I know you love what you are doing—and I'm really fine—really, really fine for the first time in a very long time." Her fingers combed through his hair and she kissed him unceasingly as he loved her with his lips, his mouth seeking and finding places that only he knew aroused her senses.

When she could take no more from him, when she called his name in a passionate whisper, he kissed her, deeply and intimately.

"You are my heart."

He felt her tense as her muscles constricted around him in welcoming waves. As he plunged into this warmth, he lost conscious thought and his body's natural instincts took over in the minutes that followed. This was passion, he thought later, obsession with another person that bordered on insanity yet the world was filled with people just like them.

"Why are you smiling?" She asked, her voice filled with after-sex huskiness, satisfied and happy.

"That we are nearly insane with happiness—that I can never get enough of you. Do you think this will last forever—even when we are old?"

Her laughter rippled and surrounded and filled his ears. "Yes, Gil Grissom, we will love each other forever—and you will be a very horny old man." She yawned and tried to stretch, but he held her against him unwilling to let her go. She settled within his arms and wrapped legs tightly around his. With a sincere and serious tone, she whispered, "I've loved you forever, Gil, and it's only just begun."

On the morning of their departure, she gave him a brilliant smile, the one that warmed all the places deep inside him, and leaned over his crossword, which he was working with his new pen, to give him the correct words, in French, one across and one down.

His smug smirk brought him a kiss.

"You really are very talented, Mrs. Grissom."

_**La fin**_

_Joyeux Noel!_

_Bonne anne!_

_A/N: Now review! Please, let us know who the hundreds of people are who read our bits of fanfiction! Seriously--if you like (or don't like) it, write a word or two and send it...we have one more in progress for "A Few Days" series, and to complete it, we need to hear from YOU!! Enjoy all the holidays and celebrate!_


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